


BLACKOUT. (klance cyberpunk/crime au)

by lewisluhan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassins & Hitmen, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Blackmail, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Closeted Character, Crimes & Criminals, Cyberpunk, Daddy Issues, Death Threats, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Heavy Angst, Hostage Situations, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, M/M, Partners in Crime, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Sugar Baby Keith (Voltron), Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Lance (Voltron), Top Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 16:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18237404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lewisluhan/pseuds/lewisluhan
Summary: (created with inspiration from captainlumin's klance au, leakira) leandro is a richer upper-class man who is known among the criminals of this cyberpunk universe for his work in tech and know-how when it comes to navigation of the cities. akira has been lower-class for the majority of his life and works as a hitman for money. akira has been hired to kill leandro by an anonymous patron and would have succeeded if it weren't for a gun being pulled on him instead. what was supposed to be a one-and-done assassination suddenly turns into an unlikely crime partnership neither of them predicted.





	BLACKOUT. (klance cyberpunk/crime au)

The whole operation was not supposed to go in the way that it did, and despite Akira Kogane doing everything in his power to steer it in the right direction, the pistol that kissed his forehead at that moment only confirmed that he had slipped up. The white-knuckled grip he had around the blade that should’ve been the one drawing blood that night would soon be proven pointless; it was common knowledge that one shouldn’t bring a knife to a gun fight. He had backed himself into a corner, his opponent’s conceited gaze pressing him up against the wall almost more than the hand on his chest was.

What had caused him to slip up? He’d done jobs like this a dozen times, hired by those with too much money who had a pest in their life they wished to be exterminated. The man he had been instructed to pick off was no different from any other target he sought, his young age perhaps the only difference. 

It had started smoothly, each step he took as he approached the man sat alone at the club bar aligning with the pulse of the music that rattled his bones. His company had been gladly accepted by his target and it had almost been too easy to drop the small pill guaranteed to floor him in minutes into his unattended drink. Akira’s request to head someplace quieter had been adhered, almost as if he was playing all of the man’s strings just right. The ease with which his target fell into his hands should have raised red flags, though perhaps it had been viewed as nothing but dumb luck to the hitman. Whatever had gone on, it had not worked in his favor, his own life on the line before he could comprehend the situation. 

Only when Akira had drawn his knife from its hilt against his thigh did the man retaliate, simultaneously blocking the practiced swing at him and giving the would-be killer a swift kick to the shin. He crumpled and hit the wall before he could process what had taken place, the taller man using both hands to press him against the brick wall adorned with graffiti. 

How had he not noticed the presence of the pistol in the man’s waistband? He quietly scolded himself as his violet eyes desperately scanned over the figure that stood before him. Akira wanted nothing more than to linger on the thought and consider where he may have gone wrong, but it was far too late to contemplate his stupidity. He was embarrassed to admit that his thoughts had been on anything but checking the man for weapons, instead pausing on the addicting rush that came with each little task of his.

“Look who’s finally shut up,” Leandro McClain purred as he further pressed the pistol’s barrel against Akira’s skin. His posture was casual, his grip on the handle loose, further mocking how little effort had been needed to turn the tables. “What’s the matter, tiger? Cat got your tongue?” 

Akira was ashamed by his failure to retort and it was obvious that his opponent could tell. Their first encounter had words dripping off of his tongue like honey, the smooth talking he found himself only capable of when in such situations sweeping him off of his feet. But at that moment, as Leandro’s eyes burned into his own, he seemed to choke on every thought. His eyes seemed to demand something from Akira, searching for a piece of him that could be taken and kept as his own. One blue eye, one brown; unfamiliar, daunting, yet charming. 

Yes, charming was the right word to describe the man before him. Everything from the dark brown curls atop his head to the arch of his full brows to the freckles that dotted his cheeks and nose like stars could only be described as captivating. Despite the minimal amount of light cast down from neon signs that lined the alleyway they stood in, it was as if the universe was working in his favor, gifting him with just enough to be able to map the details in Leandro’s face. Perhaps if the man didn’t have a pistol pressed to his forehead at that moment, Akira would have considered taking another moment to just gaze at him.

But of course, he was pressed for time. One could only tease a man with a pistol for so long before growing bored and pulling the trigger, and Akira did not wish to soil the alleyway with his own gore that night. 

“Fuck you.” His breath was shaky, causing his voice to quiver as if a child swearing with the fear of a parent’s punishment. His own fragility had not from fear, no; the source of the instability was nothing but sheer temper. It could be seen leaking from his irises, red-hot and spiteful. He had been close to his goal, so damn close. . . now even more time and effort would have to be spent on the job, more than he was willing to offer. 

Akira rotated his prized blade in his hands, palms growing increasingly damp by the minute, enough to threaten his grip. The movement of the blade caused Leandro’s eyes to flicked down to it for a moment. A chuckle was pulled from his lips, warm and inviting, almost as if he was an old friend rather than an opponent. “Why don’t you just drop the knife?” He offered, saccharin words rolling off his tongue as smoothly as silk. “I doubt it’ll do you any good from here.” 

Akira ground his teeth, jaw clenched hard enough for his teeth to ache. His face was hot, humiliated for failing to complete such a simple task. If only he had moved a second sooner, hadn’t assumed the man was as naive as those he usually targeted. . . but of course, he would not be himself without reckless impulses, and this surely had been one. 

His eyes, a blistering violet that dared those around him to meet his gaze, only grew to buzz with more detest. “You’ll have to pry it from your torso if you want it─” 

The jerk of his arm, preparing to strike flesh unprotected by bone at the man’s side, was abruptly halted by a quiet click. Akira did not have to specialize in ranged weaponry to recognize the sound, or at least how he imagined the sound to be; the safety of the pistol had been clicked off. The tip of the blade was barely an inch from piercing the tender flesh beneath layers of clothing, so close to meeting its target he could practically taste it. Yet he froze.

“You wouldn’t want to do that,” Leandro hissed, expression warm despite the chilly tone to his words. It was enough to send a shiver down Akira’s back, as if a long finger had been trailed down his spine. “Drop the knife.” The command was stern, a sergeant commanding his disobedient soldier.

Perhaps he hesitated for a moment too long, because as his fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his needle-point knife, the barrel of the pistol was pushed a little too harshly against his skull. He let out a quiet yelp as his head hit the alley wall, locks of black hair beginning to fall from the knot they had been pulled into atop his head. The moment of panic passed quickly, replaced with a scorching resentment for the man who had stood up against him, interfered with what would have been a practically effortless job. If only he had been a little quicker, hadn’t let himself go quite so limp under Leandro’s gaze.

“C’mon, honey,” his opponent purred, cocking his head as if to examine the specimen in his grip from another angle. The hand pressed against Akira’s chest pushed gently, toying with him, almost daring him to retaliate and see what consequences he would face. “Why don’t you be a good boy and drop the tough guy act for me, hm?" 

That damn smirk was enough to make Akira’s blood boil. “What tipped you off?” 

Leandro chuckled again, much too pleasant for their situation. “Just the fact that you approached as if I had nothing to offer that you wanted.” Amusement glimmered in his eyes as he replied. The tip of the pistol gently tapped against Akira’s skin, twice, three times. “Most who come to me are either looking for money or a good time. Your acting is superb, but not quite enough to mask your obvious distaste for me.”

It was a well-known fact that the man before him lived like a prince, the youngest son of the head of law enforcement, Gabriel McClain. The man was practically the king of the cops, had them all tied up with leashes and collars. One was not to cross members of his family unless they wished to find themselves behind bars. Leandro himself was known for his willingness to hand out money like candy to those who approached him in exchange for favors, most of which were suggestive in nature.

“I don’t want your money,” Akira bit back, pushing against the hands that pinned him to the wall. He bared his teeth, a scowl painted on his face.

Leandro’s retort was cool, almost enough to shock the smaller boy back into submission. “You’re clearly interested in someone’s money if you took the job to kill me, assuming that you aren’t working alone.” 

He started to sputter a counter when a hand traveled to place fingers beneath his chin, the man’s thumb resting delicately on Akira’s petal lips. It was enough to make the boy gawk, caught mid-word as the warmth met with his chapped skin. “Lemme guess, rough childhood?” 

“That’s not─” Akira started, only to be interrupted, finger pressing further against his lips. They were tugged quickly down into a frown.

“Daddy didn’t like his boy enough to keep him around so he got thrown to the streets?” The man’s gaze was innocent, teasing. “Hitman for hire just to pay the rent? I’ve seen it all, babe, and I don’t intend to join your pity party.”

It was wrong, all so wrong, and the thought of his own father throwing him out made his stomach churn. He had left home for the slums, yes, but it had not been at his father’s command.

“I don’t want your pity,” Akira growled, “and I’m not your babe.” He spat the word as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. Never in his life would he wish to be treated like the toy the word molded him into. His obsidian eyes flashed dangerously, brows furrowing as if to second his point. He could feel his grip on the blade loosening as he continued to clench his fist, slick palms causing it to begin to slide through his fingers. 

“Mm, you could be.” Leandro’s thumb slid over the pale skin of his lips, meeting with the corner before pushing inward, digit peeling the lower lip down to reveal ivory teeth. His eyes swam with greed. Despite his warm expression, his words were almost threatening, just enough to make Akira’s breath catch in his throat. 

His vision was almost swimming, head stuffed with balls of cotton. His ears rung as if his skull had been struck with a mallet, reverberating down through his bones and making his limbs shake. At that point he was certain the drug he had slipped in the man’s drink had ended up on his own tongue, glasses switched while his back was turned like some scene from a cartoon. The clarity of his sight had begun to fade in and out as if he was looking through milky glass. 

He closed his eyes for a moment that may as well have been an hour, lids weighed down with bags of sand. He drew in a shaky breath through his nose as his indigo eyes fluttered open once more, meeting with Leandro’s as if to challenge him in return. Quicker than the man could react to, he cracked his jaw and drew the man’s thumb between his teeth, biting down with the intent to draw blood or at least divert attention. 

In his dazed head, it had been a flawless plan, but the roar that came from his opponent’s chest and the aftereffects only proved Akira wrong. Before he could process the extent of what he had done, the pistol had been jerked back from against his skin, hovering dangerously over Leandro’s shoulder as he prepared to bring it down and strike. 

Akira prepared himself for a blow that never came, shoulders tensing as his head turned to face away. Instead, he was met with a hazy silence only shattered by the man’s sharp command.

“Drop the fucking knife unless you want a dent in your pretty head.” 

Reluctantly, the shorter man returned his gaze to the gun still positioned threateningly above the two, ready to collide with Akira’s skull if he so much as blinked too fast. He considered for a moment striking while the pistol was raised, but surely he would be shot as he made his escape; he was considerably quick, but not quicker than a bullet. Biting his tongue to keep from retorting, he unfurled his fingers from around the handle, letting the blade slide from his grip and clatter to the pavement. Leandro adjusted his stance so that the heel of his boot came down on top of the metal, causing the space between them to shrink further. 

Akira’s pale cheeks had blossomed to a subtle rose, shame flickering across his expression momentarily as the man stared down at him with triumph. His arm slowly lowered until the barrel of the pistol was being dragged across Akira’s forehead, brushing dark waves that had fallen loose from the knot atop his head aside and behind his reddened ears. There was nothing he despised more than appearing weak, playing the role of the fool. How unfortunate it had ended up like that in the end.

“Look at you,” Leandro purred as the pistol continued to rake across skin glossed with sweat. The muzzle crept down the bridge of his nose, only to tap twice against the tip, now dusted pink from the embarrassment that washed over him in waves. “I bet you expected I’d be the one drugged and pinned against the wall.” 

His mouth had begun to numb, words slurred as if drunk. His head buzzed like static on a television, a low humming filling his ears as his eyes tried to focus on Leandro’s again, regain the poise he had possessed moments prior. “Shut up,” he bit back, though he may as well have been a kitten hissing at a lion. The man obviously thought the same, a content smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at the man beginning to droop in his grasp.

Akira’s head had begun to dip forward when his opponent countered, cold metal meeting with the heated skin beneath his chin to prop him up. Their eyes locked just long enough to make him shudder, far too off his game to properly react to the situation at hand. No longer did his thoughts come clearly, rising from murky water instead of crystal pools. He almost forgot for a moment why he was there, only reminded when he went to shift his stance and faced backlash in the form of a not-so-tender shove back up against the alley wall. His opponent’s empty hand had made its way to perch upon Akira’s shoulder, casting light on their height difference. Leandro’s nimble fingers grasped firmly onto the tender skin of his shoulder, dangerously creeping up on his neck as if intending to asphyxiate. 

“Before you need to be dragged around like a dog, let me make a proposal,” Leandro offered after a moment of silence, only broken by the sound of distant sirens. Each tilt of the man’s head caused the dim neon lights to shift on his skin, paint the warm tone with bold colors that only accentuated the curve of his jaw. His face could have been crafted out of stained glass, a window mosaic in a church left abandoned long ago. “I doubt you’ll like it but it appears you don’t have a choice.” 

Akira could imagine baring his teeth, biting back at the comment like a snapping dog. His brows only furrowed deeper as he realized how little control he seemed to have over each and every muscle in his body. His tongue seemed to rest like a dead fish in his mouth, his arms too weighted to lift and fight back.

“I’ve been in need of an errand boy, yeah? You’d be fun to have around. I like your flair.” Leandro had begun to drag the muzzle of the pistol along his jugular, drawing it down his chest as if to mock the level of vulnerability the boy displayed. If only he could snap back. “You’ve already shown me that you’re capable of putting up a fight, and I admire that.” His voice dropped to a whisper, mismatched eyes peering at him through long lashes. “Maybe if you give up on this job and work for me I’ll let you leave with your skull intact.”

“I don’t─” He barely slurred out the first syllables before he was cut off, the grip held on the tender flesh where his neck met with his shoulder further tightening. It was enough to make his throat throb, a thumb hooking over his trachea, further threatening to squeeze hard enough to cut off oxygen. 

He leered over Akira, the smirk on his face wide enough to reveal blinding white teeth. “So what do you say, boo?” He cocked his head, fingers loosening their grip for a moment to give him a chance to breathe. His digits softly ran back and forth over his opponent’s skin, tender as if touching that of a lover. “Be my bitch?”

It took him a moment to muster the strength to draw his lips together and form words, mouth numb as if he’d been out in the cold. “I’ve got. . . no interest in bein’ your maid.” He sounded grossly intoxicated, felt like it too. His head swam as if swarming with bees, a dizzy spell cast over him over and over until his vision started to haze. With one last valiant effort, he gathered himself, lifted his chin up until his eyes met with Leandro’s, and spat. The dollop of saliva hit him in the cheek, just below one of his eyes.

Leandro nearly yelped, his confident demeanor slipping away, hissing as the viscous fluid met with his skin and began to drip down his flushed cheeks. He seemed to be biting back an insult, harshly drawing in air past his lips as if he couldn’t properly catch his breath. The flame that licked at his pupils did not die down as Akira hoped it would, and if the knife-like glare he received was not enough to confirm the rage of the man before him, the tight grasp on the shorter man’s hair was. Nimble fingers traced their way up his jaw before knotting in his dark curls, pulling hard enough that a sharp whimper escaped his lips.

“Don’t you dare say no to me, you entitled slut.” His opponent had leaned in closer to him, his breath hot against Akira’s skin, already glistening with sweat. The lack of space between the two had begun to get to him in a way that dusted him with goosebumps, as if something unknown was soon to be approaching. “Remember who you’re talking to because right now I fucking _own_ you.”

No longer did the need to retaliate promise to overtake him. He was a loyal dog, a mutt ready for command at the heel of its master, snout quivering as it waited for either punishment or reward. Despite it, a subconscious part of himself seemed to growl, a low sound that came humming from his throat, only cut off by the shift of the pistol against his skin.

Leandro softened for a moment at the sight, the man who had been hired to slay him cowering in such a way, barely able to hold himself up without slumping to the cement. “You wouldn’t be a maid, per se,” he purred after just a moment of thought, “though I’m not opposed to the idea. More like. . .” He paused, and whether it was to think or merely for dramatic effect, Akira could not tell. His eyes flashed dangerously for a moment before a dark smile crept upon his rose lips. “More like a personal assistant of mine.”

He couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit intrigued with the suggested opportunity, but then again, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be in the man’s presence for longer than he had to. Akira could admire his opponent’s confidence, but looking beyond that, it was blatantly obvious why the man had been on somebody’s hit list. That pretentious sneer was enough to make his lips curl; there was nothing he despised quite like arrogance. 

The shorter man did his best to reply, but all that escaped his lungs was a low groan as he realized how little his lips and jaw were willing to cooperate with him. It was as if they had a mind of their own and had decided to work against him, hanging almost limply with no intention of assisting him. It was quite hard to miss how smug this made Leandro, especially when he started to slump further down the wall, only held upright by the hand knotted in his hair. 

“Oh, isn’t this cute?” The predator purred as he scanned his prey up and down, his pistol quickly being nestled back into the man’s waistband to leave a free hand. Delicate fingers grasped onto Akira’s dipping chin, angled him upright as if to force them to lock eyes. He could feel the heat radiating off of Leandro’s gaze, red-hot and spiteful. “You thought I’d be in your position, hm? Look how the tables have turned.” The feeling of his opponent’s skin against his, despite the heat, was more than enough to send a chill down his spine. The man’s voice dropped, words like honey rolling smoothly off of his tongue. “Almost makes me sad that you thought I’d be naive enough to take a drink from my glass after it’s obviously been tampered with. Seems like you failed to take note of that yourself.”

The events following the exchange were hazier than Akira was willing to admit; he vaguely remembered half stumbling, half being dragged after Leandro as he nonchalantly made his way back to an unfamiliar vehicle before being pushed harshly into the backseat. It was almost as if he wasn’t comprehending what was happening, blacking out for moments at a time, drifting in and out of a nebulous consciousness. He could barely remember the cool texture of the leather against his cheek, how the stop and go of the car made the contents of his stomach churn and threaten to rise up his throat. It all seemed to meld into one large patchwork of a memory, one he would soon wish he could remember. 

What had started out as an elementary assassination had gone in the direction he least anticipated, because of course, who would start their day with the expectation of being soon abducted? Only when he woke up with a killer headache in a dimly lit room with his arms restrained behind his back did he even begin to consider it as a possibility for how his day would end and the next would begin.

**Author's Note:**

> woah hi thank you for reading through this, i hope to have the next chapters up soon.  
> you're all amazing, i hope you all have a good day lol.


End file.
